


Leopard Print Pants

by KAD4994



Series: Crack Fics [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Fun, Getting Together, Humor, M/M, Mistaken Identity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-24
Updated: 2017-07-24
Packaged: 2018-12-06 12:24:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,197
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11600583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KAD4994/pseuds/KAD4994
Summary: Since the liberation of the house-elves (thanks Hermione) wizards and witches alike have been using the Wand Washes laundry place.A mix up between Harry and Draco's orders results in an unexpected encounter and an even more unexpected occurrence.Fun, fluff, crack and humour. Life is too serious as it is.





	Leopard Print Pants

**Author's Note:**

> Completed now, silly stuff but hopefully good enough to make you laugh.

Hermione Granger had finally managed to ruin his life. It hadn’t been enough for her to best him at every subject but potions, it hadn't been enough for her to slap him in the face and it hadn't even been enough for her to be on the winning side of the war. No, she had to go and free the house-elves too. Draco cursed the woman and her interfering S.P.E.W; as now he had to sort all the laundry in to bags himself. It wasn't like his parents were going to do it after all, they'd sooner just buy new clothes every day than sully themselves with household chores. Stuck in their ways as they were. He might have been a spoilt brat, but he knew that wasn't a wise course of action, at least fiscally. So he'd had to suck it up, trying not to cringe as he sifted through his mother's _delicate_ _s_.   

Despite his moaning, he was actually grateful that his best friend Pansy had told him about the new laundry place that had sprung up after the liberation of the house-elves. Whoever the owner was, he had to give them kudos for their shrewd business ideas, it was only smart to open up such a place now that wizards could no longer rely on their servants to do such dirty work. Pun intended. He'd never been to the place so he was a little nervous after he'd swung by the manor to pick up the laundry he'd already sorted. 

The flickering light was an instant turn off. Didn't the owner know how to create a sustaining lumos charm? Draco wasn't sure if he would be able to trust these people to handle his clothing if they couldn't even manage that. Still he had no choice if he wished for his clothes to be washed, and he wasn't desperate enough to do it himself yet. Regardless, he was happy that he'd had the foresight to apply a small glamour to his remarkable features as well as adopt the assumed name James Bond. One could never be too careful with workers (and clothes), who knows if they'd take a petty revenge on the Malfoy name? It wasn't exactly favourable these days (sigh). 

He scribbled down the address of his modest flat, with the assurance that his clothing would be delivered to him the next morning. Thanked for his custom at Wand Washes, Draco sloped out with his laundry ticket in hand, remembering to sign it with the entirely bland name he had chosen from a muggle movie he'd heard about once.  

 

 

Harry woke up to the sound of the doorbell ringing. A parcel was waiting for him outside with the name James Bond written upon the tag. Ah excellent, he thought to himself, his laundry had arrived. The name had been a private joke, since he'd had to pretend to be someone else when he'd delivered his laundry. Too many people would want to paw through the saviour's clothes otherwise. He could see it now, there'd be an expose in the Daily Prophet detailing whether he wore boxers or briefs, and the colour of his socks. He'd figured the wizarding community wouldn't be overly familiar with the name James Bond (some muggleborns perhaps) and so it was a fun alias to use. Obvious and subtle at the same time.   

Normally he’d use his own magic adapted washing machine to do his laundry, but he’d hired an expensive suit for a ministry ball that had needed dry cleaning. Ron had told him about the new laundry place Wand Washes, confiding in him that he’d used it secretly to impress Hermione with his domestic prowess.The parcel seemed slightly heavier than he expected but he opened it up eagerly anyway. A second later he was puzzled as he pawed through a bag of unfamiliar clothing. 

Shirts of a ridiculously fine quality were press-folded neatly along with matching silk trousers that appeared to be hand woven. Harry rifled through the presumable stranger’s clothing and admired the exquisite taste of the gentleman. Curious, despite himself, Harry rifles through the entirety of the laundry, knowing he shouldn’t but being unable to stop himself. He was interested, after all how often did one have the opportunity to examine people’s clothing choices?

 

That was when he noticed a pair of leopard print pants. Harry blushed as he fondled that pair of thongs despite being alone. They appeared to be female, but the only clothing so far had been of the male variety. He found himself wondering whether the man had a girlfriend. Surely a man who had such impeccable taste would have his admirers? The thought made Harry jealous for some reason. He couldn’t seem to stop holding the underwear, and he wondered if it was about time he got himself a girlfriend or boyfriend. This was the closest he’d gotten to a stranger’s underwear in quite some time unfortunately, and he was obviously suffering withdrawal.

That was how Harry came to be caught still holding the salacious undergarments when he answered his door to his best friend Ron. The ginger haired man stepped into the room with a smirking grin and laughter on his lips. “Blimey Harry. If you wanted to come out, all you had to do was say, I didn’t need to see your underwear mate.”

 

Mortified, he stuffed the underwear into his pockets, scowling at Ron’s almost hysterical laughter. “Shut it Ron. These aren’t mine. And you already know my sexuality I might add.” Harry had come out as bisexual in the aftermath of the war. 

“Oooh kinky. Whose the lucky lady? Or man?” Ron beamed with enthusiasm, clearly having the best day of his life. 

“A James Bond apparently.” Harry replied glibly, watching Ron’s face scrunch in puzzlement. 

“Harry?! You stole some poor guy’s underwear! How could you?” Ron seemed thunderstruck at Harry’s admission. “Look give this James fellow his underwear back you pervert and we’ll come up with a plan to get you laid.”

Harry rolled his eyes as he stifled a grin. He could hear Ron muttering under his breath about ‘saviours going mad’ and that ‘Harry was completely bonkers’ if he were now into ‘stealing blokes’ underwear’. After ignoring Ron’s tirade, he explained the situation about Wand Washes and asked his friend what to do. 

“Oh, well you should owl them a letter, maybe they’ll give you this James’s address and you can give him his laundry in person and collect yours.” Ron brightened at the seemingly normal explanation though not before adding, “Still don’t see why you were pawing at the man’s underwear though.”

This was how Harry came to be in possession of the other James Bond’s address around ten minutes later. The company had sent an apology, promising to rescind the fee. They offered the explanation that there had been two clients named James Bond and that this had been the sole reason for the mistake. Figuring he had nothing else to do, he ignored Ron’s mocking catcalls and apparated to the vicinity of the stranger’s home.

Draco pawed through a tawdry ensemble of clothes furiously. What in sweet Salazar’s name had they done to his clothes? Perhaps they’d seen through his ruse and had known it was Draco, for it seemed that those “workers” had taken their vengeance by transfiguring each of his beautifully made pieces of clothing into a scraggy mess of (gasp) polyester blend. There were one set of semi decent wizarding robes that Draco was sure he recognised, not that Draco would ever wear such a pair. They were hopelessly drab for his tastes, too uninspiring for a unique figure like Draco’s. No, Draco was going to kill Pansy for suggesting this place, not with a simple avada kedavra though, that would be too quick for someone who’d caused ruin to his precious clothes. Then he was going to move on to the workers of that “fine” establishment.

Draco was gleefully plotting his murderous rampage when he heard a knock at the door. Wand in hand, one could never be too careful with potential vigilantes, he inched his way over to the peep hole. He almost let out a gasp of shock when he saw that the one and only saviour of the wizarding world was standing nervously on his doorstep. With remarkable speed he swung open his door, gratified to see the gobsmacked expression on Potter’s face.

“To what do I owe this pleasure?” Draco drawled with an impossibly blank expression. 

“James? James Bond?” Harry rambled in clear shock and Draco wondered if the man had gone insane. 

“No Potter, I’m Draco Malfoy. Ring any bells? You sliced me open in sixth year? I broke your nose on the Hogwarts’ Express. …”

“I know who you are Malfoy,” Harry snapped interrupting what would have surely been a pleasant trip down memory lane. “I have James Bond’s clothing, there was a mix up at Wand Washes.” 

The words sunk in and Draco swung his door open in a grand gesture of invitation for Harry to follow. He muttered under his breath as he stalked across the room.“I should have known. Who else would wear such a vile clothing?” 

“You do realise I can hear you right? We can’t all wear poncey, handwoven silk you know.” Harry defended himself. 

“It’s not poncey Potter, it’s called style. Something you’re severely lacking.” Draco snapped waspishly, no one insulted his clothing and got away with it. 

“Well it’s a bit hard to learn about fashion when you’re worried about a Dark Lord killing you and your friends.” Harry yelled bitterly.

Draco shook his head pityingly, “No need to be dramatic Potter. Now I’m only offering this for the sake of humanity. But would you like to accompany me on a shopping trip? Perhaps we can burn these rags afterwards so that no one has to be subjected to the sight of them again?” 

To Harry’s surprise, despite the priggish manner in which the invitation was extended, he found himself agreeing. He didn’t have anything else to do today, and he had to admit that he was curious to finding out whether Malfoy wore the leopard print pants or whether he had a girlfriend. He could always use the style points he admitted to himself.

Harry was astonished by how much fun he was having. Once he’d learned to listen for the humour in Draco’s sharp tongued barbs, he found himself laughing hysterically at the comments that were made about fellow shoppers. 

He still found it hard to believe that he was on a shopping spree with Draco Malfoy and he was enjoying it immensely. He’d said as much to Draco as they set off together, only to be rewarded with a smirk.

“You’ve clearly been missing out. Now come along my apprentice, I have a full itinerary to get through today.” The blonde prat pulled out a scroll of parchment that had various categories of clothing scrawled upon them, along with recommended shops. 

Harry boggled at the sight. “Why do you have a full shopping itinerary just hanging around?” 

“Who knows when one has to go on an emergency shopping spree? Like today for example.” The blonde declared grandly and sauntered pompously in front of him. Harry couldn’t help but skim his eyes along his former rival’s admittedly fine form. He blushed as he caught himself wondering what Draco would look like in the leopard print pants he still had stuffed in his pockets from earlier. A wave of heat embroiling his stomach. 

Draco apparated them both to an expensive looking footwear establishment. Harry swallowed nervously, he hated places like these, where snooty servers looked down their noses at you. Surely in a place where you pay more money, you’d expect better service? In Harry’s mind there was a direct correlation between the price of the clothing and the inadequacy he was made to feel. His heart thrummed slightly at the touch of Draco’s hand on his arm as he was dragged inside. He told himself that it was because the whole event was surreal, shopping with your arch enemy and all. Though to be fair, Draco hadn’t been his enemy in years, Harry had barely thought about Draco since the trials. A voice that sounded suspiciously like Hermione’s screeched LIAR LIAR LIAR in his head that he resolutely ignored.  
“Honestly Potter, did you fish those shoes out of a dustbin?” Draco remarked loudly as they entered the store, drawing the attention of a smirking assistant. Harry clenched his fists, the blonde git had done it on purpose. 

“Can I be service?” The imposing assistant had come over, voice dripping with enough disdain to rival his late potion masters. 

“Oh thank Merlin you’re here Charles.” Draco clasped the assistant’s shoulder firmly, “As you can see, it’s an emergency.” 

Harry’s face flamed scarlet red. Seriously his shoes weren’t that bad. So they were a little worn? Big whoop. The way those two were going on about him, gesturing wildly with emphatic expressions, you’d think he’d sacrificed a hundred virgins at an altar. He stood there awkwardly as both the wizards flittered back and forth around the store in a manner reminiscent of Ollivander choosing his first wand. Harry shook his head, the care they were taking at finding shoes was preposterous; they only went on his feet after all. 

In the end, after searching the entire store it seemed, Draco deemed three pairs as suitable for him. Harry accepted without question the choices the blonde presented, he wasn’t even going to say anything and it appeared that Draco approved of his forbearance. Sighing, he just handed over his Gringott’s account number to Charles, who still looked at Harry with disdain. He only winced slightly when the total came to six hundred galleons, though he did look at Draco with a puzzled expression. The blonde merely arched an eyebrow delicately as though to say, what of it, and Harry could only roll his eyes and be thankful of his vaults that were full of gold. 

The urgent matter of shoes having been dealt with, Harry turned to Draco with a grin. “So master, where will I be emptying my vaults next?”

That place had turned out to be the ominously titled store, Socked and Harry knew better than to ask Draco why there was need for an entire store to cater to socks, though admittedly there were other accessories such as scarves, ties, pocket squares and handkerchiefs. He wondered what was wrong with a good old packet of Kleenex? Draco’s scandalised expression had been answer enough for him when he’d voiced that opinion out loud. Resigned to another hefty expenditure, on socks of all things, Harry just watched with amusement as Draco performed the shopping experience with the dutifulness of a surgeon at an operating theatre. 

“Why do I have to carry all these clothes?” Harry had moaned after being loaded with yet more bags of his high priced apparel. Draco merely smirked as he sauntered on ahead, his body lithely graceful as he was unburdened by shopping. 

“This used to be easier before your Granger and other bleeding hearts liberated the house-elves. And don’t even think about shrinking them. Clothes like these need to be left untouched by magic.” Draco had reprimanded with a teasing smile. He was clearly having the time of his life, having Harry trot behind him obediently, waylaid by the ever mounting purchases. 

Harry came to realise that Draco and Hermione had a startlingly large amount in common, and he snickered inwardly as he pictured the indignation that would cover both their faces at hearing that. They were both ruthless in completing a task, fastidious to a fault and full of enthusiasm for their chosen topics. Harry half wondered if Draco was going to pull out a colour coded chart, given the manner in which he lectured on the differences of evening wear, formal wear, casual wear, smart-casual wear, informal wear, semi-formal wear, pre-drinks wear, cocktail wear, dress robes and occasion robes. It all went over his head, so Harry contented himself with watching the blonde’s lips move elegantly as he spoke grandly.

“You know, I think I’m going to have to draw you up a chart.” Draco shook his head snarkily as he propelled Harry into yet another exorbitantly priced store. 

“Perhaps you could colour code it?” Harry joked cheekily, bemused that his earlier prediction was coming true.

“Capital idea Potter. Maybe then you’ll understand it.” Draco beamed at him, and Harry definitely did not feel his heart stutter at that glorious sight. He’d only made his suggestion as a joke, he guessed it served him right.

Far too many hours later, in Harry’s opinion, they arrived back at the blonde’s flat. The shopping trip had been one of the most surrealist experiences of his life, yet it had been one of the most fun. Who knew that beneath a cold, petty, tyrannical exterior was a good natured, witty and charming man? Sure he was bossy and spoilt, but he was also strong and determined. Plus, Harry blushingly admitted to himself, he was nice to look at. If someone had told Harry that one day he would find a pleasurable companion in Draco Malfoy, he’d have suggested that the person checked themselves into St Mungo’s. Still Harry had always known that the pure blood snob had a penchant for fashion, he could never have dismissed that. 

“So next week we should go to Paris, pick out some ‘decent’ muggle clothes.” Draco determined with a superior air. 

“Muggle clothes?” Harry repeated in confusion. It surprised him that Draco would stoop to buying such clothing. 

“Yes muggles, non magical folk. You might have noticed that they tend to wear clothes?” He mocked with a teasing smirk. Harry sighed in exasperation. 

“I know what muggle clothing is, I’m just surprised you want to buy it.” 

“Well Potter, if one has taste and the looks, they can pull anything off. There are some French designers that aren’t half bad, not that you’d know anything about them.” The drawl was laced with teasing sarcasm. 

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a giant prat?” Harry retorted. 

“Frequently.” The blonde replied matter-of-factly. “If you hadn’t been such a big whiner we could have gone to Paris today and I could have burnt those awful rags you call clothes.”

“You made me carry twenty-six bags of clothing, by myself!” Harry snapped, before he added as an afterthought, “And my clothes aren’t rags.” Though he did have to admit that his socks did have a disturbing number of holes in them.  
“Please you look like a pauper.” Draco jibed, “Though at least now you have some clothes decent enough to be seen in.”

Harry remained silent, secretly amused that his former rival cared enough to have spent hours hand picking his clothing. He was shocked a moment later when the man approached him and waved his hand imperiously. 

“Now Potter, strip.” 

 

“What? No?” Harry babbled incoherently, fighting the flush of red that spread to his cheeks. Draco just smirked.

“How else are you going to model the clothing for me? Most people only wear one layer of clothing at a time you know.” 

Harry stammered. “Why.. what?.. uh?” 

“I would like to see my handiwork Potter. No need to get all hot and bothered by it. You did play quidditch after all, no need to act like a virgin maiden.” Draco mocked with a raised brow, clearly bemused by Harry’s telling reaction.

Seeing that Harry had made no move to undress, Draco turned his wand in Harry’s direction. He waved it lazily and muttered an unfamiliar incantation that left Harry standing in just his boxers. Before he could react, his clothes were whisked away from him and folded neatly in a pile on Draco’s sofa. Gobsmacked, he tried to preserve his modesty, making him look adorable in Draco’s eyes. 

“What in Godric’s name Malfoy?!” Harry yelled, his face heating up in the humiliation of being stood in his underwear in front of his former rival. 

The blonde surveyed him, running his eyes salaciously down the raven hair’s body. Harry definitely did not flush heatedly at that, definitely not pleased at the admiration he could see in the startlingly grey eyes. “Hush Potter, it’s not like you’ve anything to be ashamed of. Auror work must suit you well.”

“Malfoy!” The blush that stained Harry’s cheeks made the snarky blonde chuckle mercilessly. Harry could tell Draco was enjoying this immensely. 

“Chop, chop. Try on this first.” Draco bossed, summoning one of the many bags of clothing and tossing it at Harry. 

The Saviour of the Wizarding World fumbled ineptly with the buttons of the shirt. How the bumbling idiot had even managed to point his wand at the Dark Lord, Draco couldn’t tell. Sighing, he ambled over towards the buffoon and deftly began buttoning the shirt with expert hands. Harry could feel the blonde’s cool breath ghosting over his face and he involuntarily shivered. 

“I saw you looking at me Potter. Don’t deny it.” Draco murmured slyly, his face too close for Harry’s comfort. 

“I wasn’t looking at you like that.” Harry protested feebly, glad to finally be clothed so that Draco could step away.  
“Potter, Potter.” He shook his head pityingly and stepped away to survey his masterpiece. “It’s fine to find me attractive you know. Just shows you have good taste for once.” 

Harry looked questioningly into Draco’s eyes, trying to determine whether the git was just messing with him. The blonde indicated to Harry to turn around and he could feel eyes skim along his figure as he swivelled. “Very nice, Potter. Now try the next outfit on.”

“Why are you so determined to get me naked Malfoy?” Harry grumbled, though he did feel his pride swell at the compliment he’d been given. It was hard to deny that the prat was good looking, so it didn’t hurt his ego to have the sentiment returned. 

“Trust me, if I wanted to have you naked for a nefarious reason Potter, we’d already be in bed.” Draco leered and Harry stumbled like a newborn fawn. 

Recovering somewhat, Harry remarked drily; “You’re certainly cocky Malfoy. How can you be so sure of yourself?” 

“Because Potter,” Draco drawled arrogantly, “You’ve made your interest clearly known.”

Harry followed the blonde’s eyes down the length of his own body, blushing when he realised his body’s betrayal. Summoning his courage, he was a Gryffindor for a reason, he forced himself to smile in challenge. “And what Malfoy, are you planning to do about it?”

The blonde smirked sexily, “Well to start with Potter, this.” With that he lurched predatorily towards Harry, grasping his hands in the surprisingly silly black hair and pressing their lips together hungrily. 

Anticipation filling him, Harry met Draco in unison, their tongues fighting for dominance that neither could win. He’d never been kissed like this before, never had so much passion and raw longing thrum through his veins for another person like this. It should be surprising that it was his arch rival that made him feel this way, but it wasn’t. No one had made Harry feel the way Draco could. Now he had a taste of the pure energy that was Draco Malfoy, he knew that no one else would. 

 

Draco surfaced from his bedroom, a few pleasurable hours later, with one intent in mind. He was going to burn Harry’s clothing. Ceremoniously of course. For though they were essentially ghastly rags, they had helped bring them together and so deserved a fitting farewell. He checked the pockets first, who knows what valuables the idiot would keep in them, and was astonished to find a pair of familiar looking delicates. 

“Potter!” He yelled, bringing a rumpled raven haired man out of his bedroom in a panic. “Potter, why do you have my mother’s unmentionables in your pocket?!”

Harry flushed bright red and incoherently tried to explain to the blonde’s excessive amusement. “Uh well… erm…”

 

It was a few days since, when a red haired man entered his home sullenly. He saw the focus of his ire; his wife and her unlikely friend sitting at their kitchen table smirking as they drank tea. 

“Hermione.” Ron Weasley whinged. “You said the plan was to make Harry dress better. You didn’t say I’d find him sucking face with the ferret.”

“Careful Weasel, that’s my friend you’re talking about there.” Pansy Parkinson warned with a threatening smile. 

“Oh honestly Ron, it serves you right.” Hermione giggled at his petulant and dumbfounded expression. 

“Yeah Weasel, shouldn’t lie to your wife about doing the laundry next time.” Pansy chimed in nastily. 

“How was I meant to know you bloody owned the place?!” Ron shouted in exasperation, still embarrassed at the awkwardness of Hermione knowing all along he’d lied to her about the laundry. Stupid scheming women he fumed to himself and he stalked away to listen to the wireless. 

“Boys are silly.” Hermione said to the agreement of her unlikely friend and co-owner of Wand Washes, Pansy Parkinson.


End file.
